


Alcohol is an Accelerant

by evilblackhole



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Drunk!Peter, Gen, this is basically just my ramblings about Peter because i'm excited for season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilblackhole/pseuds/evilblackhole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is drinking again and he never felt the pull of alcohol this strong, but it’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Isn’t it supposed to be the more you drink, the better you feel? The more you drink, the more the bad feelings go away?</p><p>He was feeling guiltier by the second. </p><p>***</p><p>Peter is drunk and full of guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alcohol is an Accelerant

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my second Teen Wolf fic, and I must say I REALLY love Peter Hale. 
> 
> This was inspired by a Supernatural Fanfiction which is linked here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10269418/1/

**Alcohol is an Accelerant**

Goddamn him. Goddamn his nephew. Goddamn them all.

He is drinking again and he never felt the pull of alcohol this strong, but it’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Isn’t it supposed to be the more you drink, the better you feel? The more you drink, the more the bad feelings go away?

He was feeling guiltier by the second.

He must not be drinking enough then, so he drinks more and more and more and it’s still not working.

He knew werewolves were less affected by alcohol but he never thought it was this much.

They are kicking him out of the bar now and they look scared, so scared, but why? He’s not doing anything, why would they be scared?

He stumbles on the sidewalk and falls onto a puddle and he understands now why they were so frightened. Blue orbs stare back at him from the murky street water.

Blue, blue, so blue, why blue!? Blue was the worst color but oh it looked so lovely on him, draping him with his sins. Innocents, so many innocents, gone!

Why couldn’t he control it!? He could have saved them, so many of them.

Stupid Pete, always last, always the chew toy, always the example of what _not_ to become.

He’s up now and he’s running and running and he barely makes the jump over the fence to the cemetery and oh why does he do this to himself!

His eyes are still blue and he knows it, he can feel them there, burning into his skull, into his soul. Yeah the eyes are the window to the soul but he swears to God he wasn’t like this, he’s not like this, he was good, he still is!

The bottle of liquor is still in his hand when he collapses onto the monumental grave and traces their names over and over and over again. All dead. All of them dead and gone and burned and buried in the ground, six feet under, but it must be deeper than that cause when he was dead they couldn’t hear him scream.

How he screamed and screamed and screamed for them but nobody answered, nobody came. Yes, his arms might be red and covered in blood and his eyes might be blue but he was good once, he was good, he was good!

The poor girl, he never meant to torture her and drag her in the middle of it all! She was just another mistake, another carelessly made slip in the plan, and he loved her now but she hated him.

He would swear he was good once.

He protected this town once. With his sister.

And oh! his poor sister was dead and he was covered in scars all the way to his bones and how had he thought it was a good idea to come back and be alive again. What a stupid idea, to come back, he should’ve just stayed dead.

But no, dead was bad, dead was worse, dead was endlessly searching for the family that he had betrayed, endlessly trying to get back to the family that had abandoned him far too late.

He was better alive, where he couldn’t haunt them, where they could haunt him instead. He was better alive because he was suffering and goddamn it all, he deserved to.

They were dead, all dead and he had a bottle of liquor in his hands as he sobbed against the stone, far from helpful to anyone and anything, and he realized why the alcohol wasn’t working right then and in that very spot.

 _Alcohol is an accelerant._ Alcohol is burning and he could feel his house burning down inside of him and he threw up the memories of their screams right on the grass their bodies lie under.

 _Alcohol is an accelerant._ And oh he was burning again, the flames flickered before his eyes. How ridiculous he must look, the fire all about him, burning him alive as he sat there and did nothing. He deserved to burn, he should just burn forever and ever and until his scarred bones don’t even remain.

“Uncle Peter?” says a voice. “Uncle Peter!” it repeats.

He could almost swear it was Derek, but it couldn’t be. Derek hated him, Derek hated him from when Paige died on and he would always hate him. Derek killed him for God’s sake!

But that didn’t stop him from feeling the strong arm grab him and steal him away from the grave and from the flames and from his poor sister.

He lifted the bottle to his mouth, he needed to burn again, burn faster, burn brighter, burn in a fire so ferocious that even his nephew couldn’t reach him.

The bottle was smacked out of his hand before his fingers even twitched to close around it tighter.

“Peter, you can’t keep doing this,” Derek tells him.

Derek, I can’t stop doing this, he wanted to say, but his mouth wasn’t working and it came out slurred and broken in a way that even he could not understand.

Somehow his nephew understood though, somehow he knew what his uncle was trying to do because the next words Derek’s lips formed were “Peter, you don’t deserve to burn forever.”

What? What?! Derek hated him, Derek would never say that! But he did and Peter still didn’t know why his nephew was saying such things and how he could ever understand.

“Peter, you were good once.”

At that, he burst into tears again, there was no reason not to, for here was his nephew, the same boy who had slit his throat, telling him he didn’t deserve to burn in Hell and he was good, he could still be good!

Oh, how he would swear he was good once.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is! I hope you all liked it and if so please leave kudos and a comment! (If not, perhaps you could leave some constructive criticism as to why. I'm always looking to be a better writer!)


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